


One For Each Year

by Shaitanah



Category: Charmed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-21
Updated: 2011-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaitanah/pseuds/Shaitanah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belthazor only plays the games he is sure to win. [Cole/Troxa; pre-series, up to Episode 3x05, “Sight Unseen”]</p>
            </blockquote>





	One For Each Year

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Charmed belongs to Aaron Spelling, Constance M. Burge, and also a bunch of people who know exactly how to ruin perfectly awesome character. ~~Yes, Brad Kern, I’m looking at you.~~ Title from “Last Train Home” by Ryan Star.

**ONE FOR EACH YEAR**

 

They had a bad start – and not just because demons are never truly friendly with each other. Not even because Troxa is an obnoxious overachiever whose special talent is to annoy people by flaunting the one power that effectively sets him apart from the rest of the demons of his level.

 

It is hard to avoid competition in Cole’s line of work, and normally he would even enjoy a bit of it. Every once in a while a snooty beginner striving to get the attention of the higher-ups (and foolish enough to ignore Belthazor’s reputation that – one would think – speaks for itself) crosses his path. After a brief cat-and-mouse game the guy is dust and his name is history, while Belthazor lingers on, feared, hated and extolled.

 

Troxa is different. He is a rat, all right, always skulking under the protective cloak of his invisibility; but he is a cunning rat. He knows how to make his rivals do their worst and how to blame his own failures on them. Belthazor’s body count exceeds Troxa’s, but the fame of that cheeky parvenu is growing by the hour.

 

Cole knows Troxa. As much as it disgusts him to admit it, they have too much in common. They can’t work together and they can’t kill each other, and when all of that frustration gets in the way, there is a third option that neither of them takes willingly.

 

Troxa is almost always invisible when he corners Belthazor – Cole – and it is always up there in the human world, farther away from the watchful eyes of their superiors.

 

It is always against the wall or in a chair or on the floor because beds and kitchen/office tables are for casual flings, mission-related; if they are doing this, they might as well set up some ground rules.

 

It is quick and rough, and neither of them particularly enjoys it (at least not out loud), but Cole has to admit, it does help gain certain perspective. It is not about _feelings_ – because demons have none. Cole is guilty of trying to drive an athame into Troxa’s invisible back once or twice during the prelude-or-whatever-they-have-instead-of-it. All that is _ridiculous_ , but he will have to leave it hanging until he cracks the puzzle and figures out how to pull Troxa out of his protective cocoon. So far the only thing the dirtbag is showing is extreme smugness.

 

Cole arches his back as he thrusts into the invisible hand, Troxa’s flesh unnaturally hot, melting into Cole’s skin, melting into the environment. The heater always seems to go off-scale when Troxa is in the room. It has occurred to Cole of course that Troxa might even tamper with it on purpose; who knows, maybe the steam room in the ADA’s office reminds him of home.

 

If there was ever a place called home for either of them – and once again Cole very nearly cringes, recalling the unwanted similarities between the two of them. Ironically, Troxa wears his power like a shield because, as Cole suspects, he has no other face but that human one to show. Cole, in turn, is compelled to cling to his humanity, the visage that represents weakness in its purest form, because that is what they all value in him: his deceptive connections to the pointless meatbags wandering through life, just waiting to be nudged in the right (wrong) direction.

 

(Somewhere in the bottomless pit of the Underworld there is a shiny ball of soul energy that would probably rebuke him for such an unequivocal evaluation of humankind; after all, they are somewhat related. That is his secret. Now what’s Troxa’s?)

 

Be that as it may, humanity is what keeps his eyes on the prize by reminding him how complicated – human level of complicated – things can get. This – a trail of damp half-kisses, half-bites down his stomach, a mash of lips and fingers and teeth and tongue over him – this is just another proof of their disharmony. Demons do it because they feel like it; he and Troxa do it to settle a score and to pass the time.

 

Where they go from here varies. Mostly, Troxa becomes visible, and things turn messy and predictable. There is no afterglow, just a hollow, yet energizing sensation of a drawn game. It can be a decade till they see each other again. Things do not change.

 

Sometimes, however, Troxa retains his disguise. It’s the worst case scenario, empty silence perforated by occasional ragged gasps, skin to skin, the sensation you cannot wash yourself clean of, maybe even a kiss on the mouth, hungry, unwelcome, that makes Cole want to dose himself up with chili pepper just to burn out the taste of Troxa. There is nothing before his eyes, so he cannot forget, cannot pretend otherwise, because being there and not being there at the same time is Troxa’s trademark.

 

They may have been playing this game for too long.

 

* * *

 

When Troxa’s number finally goes up, Belthazor’s demon half keeps silent. His human half is torn between triumph, relief and an indefinite sinking feeling that tells him that rules do not apply anymore.


End file.
